


say yes, say yes

by Cannebady



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Not the most explicit smut, Oral Sex, POV Crowley (Good Omens), The world doesn't end but Aziraphale's patience sure does
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-21 22:55:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30029127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cannebady/pseuds/Cannebady
Summary: After quite a few millennia  of always having to say "no, Aziraphale finally says "yes". Crowley is unprepared, but quite agreeable to the change.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 106





	say yes, say yes

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't sleep, here's some light smut.

It had taken them an awfully long time to get there, so Crowley thinks he can be forgiven for every single, solitary thought falling out of his (literally) god-damned head when Aziraphale closes the door to the bookshop after lunch at The Ritz, fixes Crowley with a heated look that would rival the holiest of flaming swords, and unceremoniously backs him up against the door and buries that sweet, angelic face into Crowley’s neck. The initial shock had gone something like, _Oh, what’s going on with those eyes_ to _Angel, what are you doing? Don’t you dare stop but_ what _are you doing?_ to _Oh, oh, fuck that’s good_.

Crowley knew his neck was particularly sensitive, but _how in the bloody hell_ did _Aziraphale_ know it considering the closest they’d come to touching in recent history was in the former religious hospital while Crowley spit vitriol about being called _nice_. Fat lot of good _that_ did, considering that Crowley would let Aziraphale call him just about _anything_ provided he kept brushing his lips under Crowley’s jaw. Whatever mania, temporary as it must be, was befalling the angel must be protected because Crowley’s not going to let this go just yet. After 6,000 years of _no_ it seems like he may just get a _yes_. Or at least the implication of one.

Aziraphale starts to pull away, to which Crowley’s helpless to respond.

“ _No_ , angel. Please don’t stop.” He begs, forehead pressed to Aziraphale’s and eyes closed against whatever expression may be on the angel’s face.

“ _Oh_ , alright, yes. Of course, dear boy.” Aziraphale responds, his voice low and gruff in a way Crowley’s never heard it and if he wasn’t rock hard before, he sure is now.

“ _Christ,”_ he moans as Aziraphale leans in to run his nose along Crowley’s, allow his breath to ghost tantalizingly across Crowley’s lips; a precursor to _more_ , “ _please.”_ He finishes plaintively.

“ _Yes”_ , Aziraphale replies against Crowley’s lips. So intimate a thing it is, to feel the response against his mouth.

In the breath between seconds, he goes from having fantasized about Aziraphale’s lips on his to actually _knowing_ how good it is, and that? Well, that’s liable to fuck Crowley up for the rest of eternity but it’s so, _so worth it_. Aziraphale lips are plush and sweet, tasting of champagne and freedom and _our side_ after all this time. He groans into Aziraphale’s mouth after he feels the angel’s tongue swipe at his bottom lip, dropping his jaw slightly to allow that questing tongue entry. Aziraphale whines at the permission, brings his hands (which had been pinning Crowley to the bookshop door by the hips) to Crowley’s face, tilts his head, and _fuck him_ but they’re full-on snogging.

It goes on for what feels like forever. Crowley’s floating on the feeling of Aziraphale’s hair and arms, and belly, all of which he’s _finally_ been able to get his hands on. Finally has the tacit permission to. He starts to stroke down Aziraphale’s sides, hands inside of that blasted coat, and aiming directly to get a lush double handful of the arse he’s been ogling since Eden. When he reaches a space on Aziraphale’s lower back that could no longer be considered gentlemanly, Aziraphale breaks the kiss to pant into Crowley’s mouth.

The angel looks up with him his seafoam eyes blown wide and desperately whispers, “ _Yes”_ as Crowley finally lowers his hands and pulls Aziraphale to him by the arse. It’s bloody _glorious_ , and Aziraphale admission that he _wanted_ Crowley to do it? It’s even better. Crowley’s obsessed with _yes_ , fucking dying for it; like a man wandering in the desert being handed water, he’s _desperate_ for it.

“I’ll give you whatever you want, angel.” He says, moving his head to the left to murmur into Aziraphale’s ear.

Another lovely groan is gifted to him in return and he’s about to make a move to reverse their positions, really show the angel what his really weird tongue can do when properly motivated, when he feels a tug in his hairs that sets electricity off through his entire body.

He’s brought face-to-face with Aziraphale’s honey-flushed cheeks, bright eyes, and wicked, _wicked_ smile so unbecoming of an emissary of the Holy Host but so natural on his angel’s lovely face. He leans in close again, to the point where Crowley’s eyes almost cross trying to keep focused and whispers in the scant millimeters between them, “I think, at this juncture, I’d like to give _you_ whatever _you_ want,” the hand not tugging at his hair drifts down to his neck, one of those plump, strong thumps resting lighting over this throat, “Will you tell me what you want, my dear?”

_Fucking Satan with bells on_ Crowley doesn’t even know what to say. In the deepest depths of his fantasies, he’d sometimes imagined whether Aziraphale would delight in Crowley giving him pleasure or if he might get lost in giving it Crowley; it perhaps they’d be able to trade off that gift. But this? This is better and worse all at once. Better, because it’s real and his imagination could never have accurately come up with the tone of _longing desire_ he’s hearing, worse, because the angel actually wants him to _speak_ with _words_ and how is he supposed to do that when he can feel Aziraphale hard against his hip and knows Aziraphale can feel him, just as hard, against his own?

The thumb that’s taken residence on his throat starts to stroke up and down, apply just the slightest amount of pressure when Aziraphale speaks again. “So beautiful, Crowley. You’re the loveliest thing. I’ll give you whatever you want,” he connects their lip for another searing kiss before speaking against his lips again, “You do seem to like my mouth dear, would you like to have it somewhere else? Do you want my hand? I’ll give you _everything._ ”

“Fuck, _fuckfuckfuck,_ Aziraphale, _please_. Your mouth.” Well, that’s one way to go about it. It would seem that his filter has well and truly deserted him in favor of letting him _actually beg_ but, the resounding moan from Aziraphale means it’s probably alright.

“ _Yes”_ , Aziraphale replies and kisses him again, biting and sucking at his lower lip like he’s trying to attach them at the mouth for the rest of time and Crowley is so fine with that it doesn’t even bare thinking about.

Crowley wants more, he wants to feel Aziraphale’s skin. He wants to _touch_ and he wants to _be touched_ freely, no barriers. “ _Oh_ , angel, please. Clothes, I want,” Aziraphale has started trailing kisses down his neck and seems to have a preternaturally easy time finding every spot that makes Crowley forget how legs work, “nrgh, _God_ , right there, please just bite right _there!_ ” He practically yells.

Through a moan he hears Aziraphale groan, “ _Yes”_ into his neck before he feels teeth there, followed by a bite to his collarbone which makes him arch against the unmovable pressure of Aziraphale’s body. It earns him hands pushing his hips back against the door, stuck in place by angelic strength.

“ _Clothes_ , Aziraphale, please get-,” he moans again when a bit is placed just above his left pectoral, “Angel let’s get our bloody clothes off before I _ruin them._ ” His voice is both a desperate whine and a growl and it’s not a sound he thought he could make but today is a day for many, many firsts as it would seem.

“ _Yes, my dear”_ the angel responds, breathily.

Aziraphale pulls back, which Crowley can’t possibly protest enough, but quickly snaps his fingers and then _holy fucking Christ_ they’re both naked, skin against skin, and it’s probably a very fucking good thing because Crowley’s not sure he isn’t going to go off right now, just at the feel of his cock against one of those _fucking perfect thighs._

“ _Ngk_ , angel, fuck, so good”, he says, letting one hand comb roughly through Aziraphale’s curls, messy as they already are from his hands.

“ _Yes”_ , Aziraphale says, looking him in the eye with just a hint of mischief gleaming, as he drops to his knees, right there in the shop, staring into the demon’s eyes the whole way down.

Crowley’s stopped breathing. He knows he asked for this, knows that Aziraphale is willing, but the actuality of it is requiring all of his attention. Who needs breathing or a heartbeat or anything like that when they’ve got a very attractive, lush, bastard of an angel on his knees for them?

“Oh, angel, you’re perfect, you are.” He’s proud that his voice only shakes a little as his drags the backs of his fingers along the softest, warmest of cheeks.

“ _Darling_ , look at _you_. So good for me.” And _fuck_ there he goes again, tripping over something that has Crowley desperate in seconds.

“Please, Aziraphale, _please”,_ he begs.

“ _Yes”,_ Aziraphale replies before licking a broad stripe up the underside of Crowley’s leaking cock before swallowing him to the root.

“ _Fucking Hell angel,_ don’t stop”, he practically yells into the depths of the bookshop, “I’m close, but please, if you want to, just let me-” he trails off, not sure how to ask if he can finish like this. Luckily, Aziraphale gets the hint. He pulls off of Crowley with a pop and a wet slick sound that will haunt Crowley until the heat death of the universe, drags his eyes lasciviously up Crowley’s body before looking him in the eye and saying, once again, “ _Yes”._

No sooner has Aziraphale, erm, _reapplied_ himself to the task does Crowley’s head arch back to hit the door of the shop and everything goes a bit fuzzy.

* * *

A few hours later finds them ensconced in Aziraphale’s bedroom above the shop, bedclothes and feathers strewn about the room haphazardly; a living trophy to all of what they’d just done. It’d make any demon quite proud indeed.

Crowley looks over to Aziraphale, barely awake in Crowley’s arms (all assertions of not sleeping seemingly tabled for the evening under extraneous circumstances), and can’t help but clarifying that this is more than a one-time thing.

“Angel, I hope you know that this? This is a forever kind of thing for me.” It’s said quietly, with the barest hint of confidence, because Crowley may not be able to feel love like Aziraphale can, but it’s hard to mistake any of this as anything _lesser_.

He receives one angelic eye cracked open, a soft hand on his cheek and a kiss to his shoulder where the angel’s head currently resides. Without ceremony, Aziraphale simply replies “Yes” and snuggles back down for a well-deserved nap with the demon he loves.


End file.
